” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door. ‘Damnation! Too late. Wood, I desire you'll put on your best things, and join us as soon as possible. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. So long as they're about, I'll always be rewriting them and wasting my time. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. And now YOU’RE on the war-path.
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