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‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. It’s not you—not a bit. " "That's better. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. “I am very glad that you have come here.
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