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She went on bathing the wound she, who could have bathed it with her tears. As time passed, and still the doctor did not come, she began to bandage it. She called on Polly for the bandages; then, still without looking up, she divined that Polly was useless was engaged in trying to catch Zeally's eye, and warn him or get a word with him. "He's pale as a ghost yet," said Endymion.

Zeally's cleverness struck me as a trifle too ah phenomenal for belief. I scented some low intrigue; and Polly's dismissal may indicate my pretty shrewd guess at the culprit." "But it was not Polly!" "Eh?" Endymion sat bolt upright. "You must not blame Polly. It was I whom M. Raoul came to see that night." He stared at her, incredulous. "My dear Dorothea, are you quite insane?"

For a moment from Zeally's manner " He gulped down the drink. "His confession was honest enough, anyhow. Poor fool! he's safe in hospital for a week, and his friends, if he has any, and they know what it means, will pray for that week to be prolonged." "What does it mean?" Dorothea managed to ask. "It means Dartmoor."

If, as I suppose, you refer to the 'Pont de Lodi, that is a totally different work of art." "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." "And I don't intend that you shall." He cut a small strip of braid from his coat, inserted it for a bookmarker, and began to fold away the excised pages. "That's why I am keeping these back for my own perusal, and perhaps Corporal Zeally's." "Do you know him?"