What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. He pulled away. Before Jonathan followed he turned to face his assailants. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. A paralyzing horror was upon her.
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