He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. " "Ha!" exclaimed Jonathan, with a sudden vehemence that electrified the chief turnkey; "what's this! a spike gone! 'Sdeath! the women, you say, have been here.
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