Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly.
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