The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. It still failed in something. ’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. Either that or some other person also obtained admission here and shot him, and that person is either still upon the premises or escaped without your notice. There was more shouting.
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