” Annabel yawned. She stepped into his arms. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. Sheppard. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully.
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