Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. Ramage did not know. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. The Frenchman was already being followed.
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