Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet.
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