She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. Quilt was not long in following his example. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. “I’ll turn you here. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner.
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