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She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Ireton, you are in league with him. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Little by little Sebastian gave to her the story of how she came to be abducted. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. Spurling in alarm. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me.
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