"Not a moment is to be lost," whispered Jonathan to Trenchard. For a moment she remained silent. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. “Was I that bad?” He asked. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. III.
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