They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. It was her past now, not Annabel’s.
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