Thames Darrell is—" "My husband nicknames him Thames," interrupted Mrs. " "Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard. He had been quite right to sit down. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. She held up the lamp.
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