” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy.
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