” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. “Well, what is it?” “Montague Hill is recovering consciousness,” he said. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes.
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