‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice.
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