She was no longer there. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. He leapt down into the haha surrounding the terrace, and saw that the nun was there also and backing towards him, anxiously checking now and then above the level of the terrace. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs.
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