Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. Remember?’ ‘Parbleu,’ came from his still struggling victim. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. But I trusted to that ring of yours. ” “You what?” she repeated incredulously.
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