“Four,” Anna decided firmly. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. Now lend me your own hand. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers.
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