“You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. But his eyes were on the Frenchman, and as Valade moved up the other road a little way, the lad shifted alertly, and swiftly closed the distance to the intersection. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Drummond had made an abominable mistake.
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