235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. ’ She saw suspicion darken his gaze. The Night-Cellar XVIII. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. “I am much obliged to you,” he said. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows.
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