I have—run away. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. It simply doesn’t count. I've a child here whom I wish to convey across the water without loss of time.
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