Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost
as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no
discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis
Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil
on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. What sort of proof? There are no
papers at Remenham House. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid
look. As the lapse of time and change of circumstances have wrought a remarkable
alteration in the appearance of the poor widow, it may not be improper to notice
it here. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the
name.
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