Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. Last night there had been no time. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon.
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