So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. ‘More nor that.
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