He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. That was the true marvel of it. One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. "He says he don't understand flash," replied the lady in gentleman's attire. “I have made over seven hundred pounds in the last week,” he said. “I’ll ruin your suit. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. "I shall go back and finish my supper," said Mrs. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance.
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