" "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. " And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. ’ ‘Ah. ” Her eyes glinted, macabre. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore.
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