"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. " He then hurried Darrell down another short flight of steps, and entered a small chamber at the back of the house. They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Where can I have heard it!" "Devil knows," rejoined Blueskin. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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