At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr. Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way with a quickened step. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. But that did not stop Trodger, who had ridden up from Kent for the purpose, from detailing every little inspection and sortie that his men had made in their allotted task of watching Remenham House. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey.
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