"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. I don’t conceal it. "On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant. The man is a stranger to me. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys.
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