Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. I'm going through his pockets. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted.
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