Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. ‘Oh, mon dieu. “Very sincerely yours, “ANN VERONICA STANLEY. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now.
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