It ought not to be much. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. She held out both her hands. "She is. “I’m fine,” she said softly.
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