"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. She sensed that he was looking for her. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. “I can say no more. E. ” He stared in amazement at this new aspect of the situation.
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