‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Mr. ” John took his hand away. “It is from his brother in Paris. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. He smiled inwardly.
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