Brock was breakfasting out-of-doors in the cheerful little garden of the H tel Chatham. The sun streamed warmly upon the concrete floor of the court just beyond the row of palms and oleanders that fringed the rail against which his Herald rested, that he might read as he ran, so to speak. He was the only person having d jeuner on the "terrace," as he named it to the obsequious waiter who always attended him. Charles was the magnet that drew Brock...
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