’ Baring his teeth in a smile of triumph that was every bit an animal snarl, and leaping up onto the seat of the pew he was in, he jumped hazardously to the next. 5. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
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