She was by his side. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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