There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. ’ The lady hesitated a moment, her eyes seeming to measure the distance between where he stood and the door. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart.
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