Blank commissions, signed by the prince, to be filled up by the name of the person, who could raise a troop for his service, were liberally bestowed. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. There it was—to be borrowed.
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