Mr. ‘She didn’t behave in the least like an émigré, if these people are anything to go by. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. A fierce struggle ensued.
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