Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Milice,’ Gerald translated. ” Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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