Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Sydney was watching her eagerly. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. As for loving you, I do.
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