“We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. “I’ve thought about it. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. The Old Mint.
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