It seems Valade visited him that day to present his credentials, and Charvill posted straight off to inform his great-uncle. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. “No,” she answered. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica.
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