“FAIL!” she said. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end.
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