The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well.
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