” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off.
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