He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. You won't have him long. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared.
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