‘Ah. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. Trenchard glanced at the document.
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