“What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. 8 or 1. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. " "What?" said the doctor, whose thoughts were in something of a turmoil.
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