’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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