A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. E. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating.
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