Captain Roding strode into the parlour. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. . . But we waste time. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. Lucy turned and faced the strawberry blonde behind her, gesturing rapidly with a folded origami triangle, evidently the newest form of note. “Anna!” she repeated.
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