A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since.
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