‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Anna, my love, you cannot have forgotten so soon.
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