“And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. After a careful search below, he could detect no trace of Blueskin. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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