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The lady had disappeared. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. ’ ‘Where then is your uniform?’ ‘I don’t wear it to balls. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. ‘Knowed it the instant I set eyes on her. He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. One transgression; he was sure of that. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug.
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