Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. "It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it. Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. ‘I knew I should find you still here. The Jacobite.
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