‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. I’m not such a bad sort. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day.
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