” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview.
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