But nothing followed to indicate that the liquid had stimulated the heart. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. I might have told you the truth. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. She leaned a little towards him. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography.
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