Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. “Under the Wilde Frau—which was named after you. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country.
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