“I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols.
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