It was a dead calm. "I thought we were going to have some music," she said. Caution forced her to speak calmly. Neither Charvill nor his heir know anything of your presence in England. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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