It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?" Enschede gazed seaward. “Come on in. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that.
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