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A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. Will you answer me a question first?” “If I can,” Ennison said. My father was Colonel Pellissier. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire.
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