White said. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead.
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