“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. you did what you had to do. “La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. A silence ensued. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees.
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