CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. I am determined to fight my own little battle with the world —there must be a place for me somewhere, and I mean to find it. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. Wagstaff. Hope reared.
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