"Here, my lord!"
The voice was close at his ear.
"Thank God! I thought you'd disappeared for good. I say, we ought to have known."
"Yes, my lord."
It had come on them from behind, in a single stride, thick, cold, choking—blotting each from the other, though they were only a yard or two apart.
"I'm a fool, Bunter," said Lord Peter.
"Not at all, my lord."
"Don't move; go on speaking."
"Yes, my lord."
Peter groped to the right and clutched the other's sleeve.