"Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She pushed the former and it opened. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out.
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