He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Her heart swelled to suffocation. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. F.
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