What he wanted desperately was to be alone. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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