The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. Only a book detective could dope this out. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room.
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