“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance.
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