“It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes.
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