"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. ” “We will,” said Miss Miniver, refusing to be suppressed, “if some of us have to be killed to get it. ” “Bring her—here,” Hill muttered. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks.
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