"I shall be back presently," replied Thames, evasively. “Nothing. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. "But I tell you frankly, and Mr. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks.
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