Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. Waving a white flag, naturally. In one of the little red circles the doctor had traced that abbreviation. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers.
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