Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. " "He's gone to Enfield after Blueskin, who has so long eluded his vigilance," rejoined Austin.
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