“Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. This way, Sir Rowland. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head.
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