The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. “I might have muddled for a time. . ‘Tell me, my boy. . He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ’ ‘What if she goes back to Charvill?’ demanded Roding.
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