She never expected to get her ladyship home alive. Spurlock has gone. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling.
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