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He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives. Part 3 For a time they walked in silence through the back streets that lead southward from the College. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. .
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