” “Did it come—in Paris?” “I do not know,” he answered. . The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. He it was who formed the grand design of a robber corporation, of which he should be the sole head and director, with the right of delivering those who concealed their booty, or refused to share it with him, to the gallows. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. Phillips Oppenheim’s most intriguing stories.
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