‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol.
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