’ He laughed. Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. \" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles. Consternation gripped him. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. Annabel, I cannot believe it. ‘Soldier of fortune. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps.
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