He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. After feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to Willesden would be down a lane a little further on, to the right. “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. .
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