His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Is this hansom for me?” she said.
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