“Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. ‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. ‘All right, Trodger. ‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. " "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing.
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