She let out a wail. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. . But his words were borne away by the driving wind. But he tells them that I am a spy. ” And Ann Veronica at once went back with the hold-all, trying not to hurry indecently but to keep up her dignified air of being a wronged person doing the right thing at a smart trot, to pack. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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