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. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. We leave England to-night. " Without another word, and accompanied by Thames, he then took his way to Dollis Hill in a state of the deepest depression.
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