The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. ‘You are related to General Lord Charvill?’ ‘Monsieur le baron, he is my grandpére,’ she confirmed. Spurling had retired for the night. But, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way.
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