” “You didn’t. ’ ‘But me orders, sir? Are we to—’ ‘Gad, but that’s her,’ interrupted Roding suddenly. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice.
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