Lucy's grin faded. “You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. " "With all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued Kneebone, laughing. " "You mustn't think of that, Mrs. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her. His father spoke for him.
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