” The detective nodded. Get you gone. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. The image did not move. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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