The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. “But that’s not all. ‘Wait for me. ‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. John did not see her until the last period.
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