Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Wild here presently. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. It was as if he could smell it on her. " "Cannot?" echoed Jack, a slight smile crossing his features. Meysey Hill—never your wife. She saw nothing of their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding.
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