” “I haven’t told any one the amount,” he went on. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. ’ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea, he were,’ agreed Pottiswick’s daughter.
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