The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. “The bravest of us have joints in our armour. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
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