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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Maker of History"

Says he has a motor coming over for him to try from
Norwich, and his dutiful daughter remains with him. Thought I
would let you know in case you cared to come and look them up.
Best I could do for you.
"Ever yours sincerely,
"RUNTON."
Duncombe had breakfasted alone. Pelham had asked for something to be
sent up for him, and Spencer, after a cup of coffee in his room, had
gone out. Duncombe did not hesitate for a moment. He started at once for
Runton Place.
A marvellous change had taken place in the weather since the previous
day. The calm splendor of the early autumn seemed to have vanished. A
strong north wind was blowing, and the sky was everywhere gray and
threatening. The fields of uncut corn were bent, like the waves of the
sea, and the yellow leaves came down from the trees in showers. Piled up
masses of black clouds were driven across the sky. Scanty drops of rain
kept falling, an earnest of what was to come as soon as the wind should
fail. Duncombe had almost to fight his way along until, through a
private gate, he entered Runton Park. The house lay down in the valley
about a mile away.


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