She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. I don't believe his name is Taber. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. That is I saw her. It should be the happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. With the usual precautions, Austin then departed.
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