He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. “Nigel, don’t you understand. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. But me, I am going to England. But, perhaps, you'll first accompany me to my dwelling for a moment, that we may arrange our accounts before we start.
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