Captain Roding either did not know, or did not remember that she had it. 92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites.
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