’ ‘By all means,’ agreed Lucy at once, and ignoring the automatic protest that issued from Roding’s lips, she threw a command over her shoulder as she turned to go. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. “Dear John,” she whispered. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury.
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