Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. “Very likely,” he answered. “No, a Queen was at once a political pawn and a social laborer, just as they are today. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether.
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