Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. 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. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him.
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