Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. “Yes. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. She had remained patently unavailable to him. ‘Imbecile. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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