“Well, well, Martin. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. " "Graves. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. " "Come this way, Mr. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it.
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