There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. . As for me, I look twice at it. Idiote.
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