” “It isn’t,” said Mr. Wood fancied he recognised. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. "No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge.
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