“It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. She rested her head upon his shoulder. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. It’s Italian. He would know the truth then once and for all. ’ ‘Ah, no?’ She saw his guard relax and lunged again.
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