How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. “But about last night. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. How the devil did you break a picture?’ ‘Don’t be obtuse, Hilary.
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