The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. But, no. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
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