The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. She was shifting, moving back. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. CHAPTER XXXI. The halls are on the lookout for something new. I think you’re wrong. ‘You will release me at once, imbecile. I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel. "What in the world is it?" he asked.
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