"You have seen for yourself." "Yes, I have," she replied.

"Harold, there have been moments this evening when I could have screamed." Robert Pettifer hurriedly turned towards the table in the far corner of the room where the tray with the decanters and the syphons had been placed.
"Margaret, I pass my life in a scream at the injustice of the world," said Harold Hazlewood, and Robert Pettifer chuckled as he cut off the end of a cigar.

"It is strange that an act of reparation should move you in the same way." "Reparation!" cried Margaret Pettifer indignantly.

Then she noticed that the window was open.

She looked around the room.