Sir John hesitated. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. Every one else does. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Once more he was the searcher. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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