At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He might solve the riddle. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. “I feel like a giant! I believe now I shall do great things.
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