The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Spurling, drily. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. ” She stopped. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind.
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