She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk.
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