” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. . " "Trying to.
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