He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Sydney sprang up. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention.
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