Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Besides, he might hear things. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time.
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