Something in her tone made him look up. ” “Thanks for the nice evening, John. Ask your own conscience. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance.
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