Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. And then suddenly—a relief. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. Give me that picture, or I'll make you!" "Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere.
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