The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Not us. . ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. The door of cabin 2 was open. ” “Your knowledge of our ways,” he murmured “is profound. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. ” “Would not do what?” “Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead.
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