Dump popped his head into the cage. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday.
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