Martha was quite right. “She is likely somewhere on the road or perhaps in town, finding victims. Anna made things for her. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. Night and day have been alike to me. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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