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She reached for the door handle. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. "Now, lead me to a hotel where I can get breakfast. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. Only a few, but enough for me to understand that some act had driven you to this part of the world, where the hunted hide.
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