Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. To be no longer with Martha was strange. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. The stranger turned his head at the sound. It was her past now, not Annabel’s.
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