Courtlaw rose to his feet. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. He kissed her again. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was.
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