"The night before last, Mr. Wood. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ” Lucy added, growing weary. ” “I suppose,” Anna said, “that those are reasonable deductions. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. In a moment he was beside her.
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