Kneebone nodded. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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