" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful. It makes no difference. She had lost it. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink.
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