" "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. ” Hill closed his eyes. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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