‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver.
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