“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. . ’ The things she said and did from you—seem impossible. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us.
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