He was looking pale and ill. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed.
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