U. And as for not knowing me, you abominable little liar, you’re perfectly aware that we met at Remenham House. \" He said with a question in his voice, a question that revealed that he was intimidated, and not only that, but he had it bad. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. Foundation Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. Mr. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE CARPET-KNIGHT AND THE 7 LADY II THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL 15 III ANNA? OR ANNABEL? 20 IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN 26 ARTIST V “ALCIDE” 31 VI A QUESTION OF 36 IDENTIFICATION VII MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS 41 VIII “WHITE’S” 45 IX BRENDON’S LUCK 54 X THE TRAGEDY OF AN 61 APPETITE XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL 66 ENNISON XII THE POSTER OF “ALCIDE” 70 XIII “HE WILL NOT FORGET!” 76 XIV “THIS IS MY WIFE” 81 XV A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 89 XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR 96 JOHN XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” 103 XVIII ANNABEL AND “ALCIDE” 109 XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” 115 XX ANNA’S SURRENDER 121 XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET 126 XXII AN OLD FOOL 134 XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST XXIV A CASE FOR THE POLICE XXV THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” XXIX MONTAGUE HILL PLAYS THE GAME XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER 138 144 150 156 162 169 174 178 183 188 ANNA THE ADVENTURESS Chapter I THE CARPET-KNIGHT AND THE LADY The girl paused and steadied herself for a moment against a field gate. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owes you. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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