She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. "Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. Listen, it is I. Cathy answered the phone.
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