She was furiously angry. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. He stood transfixed. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side. By and by the tramp of horses' feet was heard slowly ascending Snow Hill, and presently a troop of grenadier guards rode into the area facing Newgate.
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