" "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. I’ve made up my mind. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. The visitors, when they entered, looked thoroughly intimidated and Everett concealed a grim smile.
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