For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “But your hair,” he gasped. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar.
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