‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Sheppard, falling on her knees. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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