The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. Vorsack looked pale and pink. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders.
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