It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Charley Pevenill was our host. “I can’t conceive what you want. ” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake! Hilary will send him off all right and tight, never fear.
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