Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone.
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