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” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. Having heard from Thames that you were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give you the first intelligence of my escape. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. ” Annabel looked at him curiously. You will certainly be compromised. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other.
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