They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. “I have my methods. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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