" CHAPTER XIX. ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. Sheppard. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. " It was only a shade better than the Stone Hold. Only a book detective could dope this out. " "You had better write them for me, Mr. " Lady Trafford sighed deeply.
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