Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. “The fellow seems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived in Paris. Sheppard. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.
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