"After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. White assented. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. An immediate halt took place. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily.
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