His age was not far from fifty. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. “I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course.
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