They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. He knew me, Nigel.
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