“You must send for the police at once, you know. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.
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