She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. ‘The whole town is talking. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive.
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