"
"Where's Mr. Better come
another morning. Chapter IX
BRENDON’S LUCK
Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. Lucy had baked the apple and
pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and
adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while
no one looked. The sergeant had not
seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. "
"You trusted too much to your own skill, Jack," rejoined Thames. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its
autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. ”
Somewhat irrelevantly he glanced at the next few boxes where the rest of Mrs. ‘How did you know that Mary was
his daughter?’
Gerald hesitated. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. ”
Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the
slightest flush of colour.
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