"You," answered Jack, abruptly. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. ” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper.
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