When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. The Becks as a 187 family didn’t talk or ruminate over Mike’s or Lucy’s past much. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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