Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. We're told, that 'Whoso is partner with a thief hateth his own soul. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose. Why don’t I just go and get the key from Pottiswick?’ Alderley flicked a glance back at him over his shoulder. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him.
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