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Angellotti, Marion Polk, 1894-1979

"The Firefly of France"

"
The casualness of his tones made Blenheim's menaces seem childish and
futile. I had not the slightest doubt that he would keep his word. Yet,
without any reason whatever, I liked him and I had no fear of him; I did
not feel for a single instant that Miss Falconer was in danger; she was
as safe with him, I knew instinctively, as she was with me.
I opened my lips to parley, but found myself interrupted. A cry came
from behind me, a low, utterly rapturous cry. I was thrust aside, and
saw the girl spring past me. An instant later she was by the stranger,
kneeling, with her arms about him and her bright head against his cheek.
"Jean! Dear Jean!" she was crying between tears and laughter. "We
thought you were dead! We thought you were never coming back to
Raincy-la-Tour!"
It seemed to me that some one had struck my head a stunning blow. For an
interval I stood dazed; then, painfully, my brain stirred. Things went
dancing across it like sharp, stabbing little flames, guesses, memories,
scraps of talk I had heard, items I had read; but they were scattered,
without cohesion; like will-o'-the-wisps, they could not be seized.


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