” “Nobody does that,” said Ramage, and kept silence for a moment. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door.
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