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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Yes, I am Dick Cameron, Ronnie's particular chum; and if ever he needed a particular chum, poor old chap, he does so at this moment. But I am glad he has found a friend in you, and one really able to undertake him. You did right not to leave him at the hotel; and he must not travel back to England alone." "I have already arranged to accompany him," said Aubrey Treherne.
The room looked very home-like and cosy. A fire crackled gaily on the hearth. The winter curtains were drawn; the orange lampshades cast a soft golden light around. The tea-table stood ready cups and plates for two. The firelight shone on the embossed brightness of the urn and teapot. Ronnie's favourite low chair was ready for him.
He turned his eyes resolutely from the 'cello, and told her of his manuscript, of the wonderful experiences of his travels, his complete success in finding the long grass thirteen feet high, and the weird, wild setting his plot needed. Suddenly he became conscious that Helen was not listening. She sat gazing into the fire; her expression cold and unresponsive. Ronnie's heart stood still.
The door of the smoking-room opened, and a very tall man came out, taking a pipe from the pocket of his loose Norfolk jacket. As he strolled into the hall, his face reminded her of Ronnie's, deep-bronzed and thin; only it was an older face strong, rugged, purposeful. The heavy brown moustache could not hide the massive cut of chin and jaw.
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