" So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. It generalized everything she put to it. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. . Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. Only a book detective could dope this out. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all.
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