He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. It is you who took my name, not I yours. ’ ‘What?’ Roding’s glare tried Gerald’s control severely, but he pursued his theme unheeding. There you will be, in an inner temple. For a time Spurlock did not move. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire.
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