For a few minutes he kept them at bay. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. She looked steadfastly out. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. At last the panel swung back into the library.
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