Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. ” He fell back in his chair with an expression of tremendous desolation.
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