‘Not yet, madame. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. No, let us dine here, and then go and have our coffee on the boulevards. Find your man, that’s the rule. All right. Anna said nothing. He stood back and held her shoulders.
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