“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. She must not show anything. Jonathan had to feel his way. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party.
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