Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. —'How so?' says I. Courtlaw. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. “Not possible. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement.
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