” He paused for a time. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. . Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. “I shall leave the flat to you and go to a hotel. "Will that do?" he added, returning it. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. I wonder what it was.
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