What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. Trust you. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly.
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