His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. None at all. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered.
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