“We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ” For a moment or two he did not speak. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. "Is Thames returned from London?" "Not yet," replied the other; "but I expect him every minute. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers.
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