Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe.
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