I was helpless. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. . ’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. Stanley,’ I said. ” “Thank you,” Anna answered coldly. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard.
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