“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. I might have known it. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back.
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