Captain Roding strode into the parlour. “Well, I do. “Mary Lucia. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew.
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