‘It is nothing. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. T' other gen'l'man said the letter 'ud explain all. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?" "Mrs.
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