‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound.
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