It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. Norris entered the room, followed by Father Spencer. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. ‘Hilary!’ The captain appeared, alert at the note in his major’s voice as Gerald had known he would be.
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