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From none of these could Jack ascertain what had become of Thames, or learn any particulars concerning the family at Dollis Hill, or of his mother. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. Try and consider me your elder brother, or an old family friend, whichever you like best. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. “Now replace the stone, my child.
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