‘She’s gone. " Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. “She’s all right. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. “Yes. I am your very dutiful niece, aunt, and your most devoted sister, Annabel. Do you hear?" "I do, Sir," replied Austin respectfully. " "He's gone to Enfield after Blueskin, who has so long eluded his vigilance," rejoined Austin. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. .
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