’ She was too distressed to bear this. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head.
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