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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Hell, Binks," he remarked savagely "just Hell!" During the weeks that followed Vane did his best to put Joan out of his mind. He had given her his promise not to write, and as far as in him lay he tried his hardest not to think. A Medical Board passed him fit for light duty, and he joined up at the regimental depot in the cathedral city of Murchester.
And Clarke, well as he loved Fernhurst, loved the House a hundred times more. "Well played, Caruthers; jolly good knock." "Well done, Caruthers!" Lovelace and Mansell banged excitedly into Gordon's study the evening after the Colts match v. Murchester. Gordon had made thirty-seven on a wet wicket, and a defeat by over a hundred runs was no fault of his.
'I can't, my dear, said I, 'for I don't know myself . . . . And then she picked up a piece of paper and wrote a few words on it, and sealed it up, and addressed it to you at Murchester. . . ." "Ah!" said Vane quietly. "She wrote it here, did she?" He laughed a short, bitter laugh. "She was right, Mrs. Green. I had the game in my hands, and I chucked it away."
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