But she made no answer. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. Wild. You'll find me at supper.
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