For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. ‘I think you know my affianced husband. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding.
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