"Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly.
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