From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. Do you have a car?” She asked.
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