\"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. My father has made every possible inquiry, and offered large rewards; but has not been able to discover the slightest trace of him. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. Manning as they talked. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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