“I hope nothing is wrong. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square.
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