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She wanted to know. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. His face warm, Captain Roding glared them into silence, and firmly marched his captive off down Piccadilly, heading for Stratton Street where the town house of the Alderley family was situated. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. He stepped back further.
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