His name was Peter. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. . There were lines in her face that age had not put there.
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