Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. From none of these could Jack ascertain what had become of Thames, or learn any particulars concerning the family at Dollis Hill, or of his mother. “But I am your husband,” he said. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. It is in the lower cupboard.
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