‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style.
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