He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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