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He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. ‘But a spy I am not. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. And would you mind hurrying a little. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. ’ Gerald grinned. ’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London.
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