When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. " "Are you sure of that," inquired Jackson. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. She felt he would tell people the way, control traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. " Ten minutes' walk brought them to the hotel. A big breakfast is healthier anyway, so they say. The doctor nodded to him curtly.
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