” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. He was there concealed, waiting her return. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. But that did not stop Trodger, who had ridden up from Kent for the purpose, from detailing every little inspection and sortie that his men had made in their allotted task of watching Remenham House. The door was then locked, and he was left alone.
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