She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. “It’s too bad. . Paintings sold off the walls. But he was wide awake. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Wood fancied he recognised. She was no longer a confederate in that. They struck her as cold and indifferent. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg.
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