The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. " "You did right," returned Trenchard. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. “No!” she exclaimed. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next.
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