\" Diane Vorsack chirped with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, extending her right hand in greeting. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified.
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