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Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. The door opened. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. “There is my aunt,” she said. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek.
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