Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. You were probably robbed in Hong-Kong. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Here it is. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried.
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