In the Luce Manor Boathouse That same evening Daunt paid his promised visit to Austin Ponson. He found his client seated despondently in his cell, his head resting on his hands. Like Dale, he had aged since his arrest. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes weary, and as he moved his head a suspicion of grey showed at his temples. His manner had lost its old ease and lightness, and it was evident that the crisis through which he was passing would leave its mark on him for many a day to come. ‘I have something for yo…
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