Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. Bah. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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