"I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. “I think they do. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. ‘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.
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