“I think she would,” she decided. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. ’ ‘Did no one know, then?’ ‘No, for the vicomte, we learned later, wrote to General Lord Charvill in pursuit of his sister.
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