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

"A Maker of History"


"What was that?" she cried.
"I heard nothing," he answered. "What can one hear? The wind is strong
to drown even our voices."
"And those?" she cried again, pointing with outstretched finger to two
rapidly moving black specks coming towards them along the winding road
which led from the highway to Runton Place.
Duncombe watched them for a moment.
"They are the Runton shooting brakes," he declared.
"I expect Lord Runton and the rest of them are coming back."
"Coming back!" she repeated, with a little gasp.
"But they were going to shoot all day and dine there. They are not
expected home till past midnight."
"I expect the shoot is off," Duncombe remarked. "One couldn't possibly
hit anything a day like this. I wonder they ever started."
Her face was white enough before, but it was deathly now. Her lips
parted, but only a little moan came from them. He heard the rush of her
skirts, and saw her spring forward. He was left alone upon the hilltop.


CHAPTER XX
MR. FIELDING IN A NEW ROLE

Runton was apparently enjoying the relaxation of having got rid of
practically the whole of its guests for the day.


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