Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Vite, I pray you. My death, probably. “Once or twice. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. ‘Tell me, my boy. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank.
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