She had better escape if she can. “Dear John,” she whispered. I knew where I would go next: Florence. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. It contains news of the serious illness of a near relation at Paris. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was.
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