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“Twenty-two. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. Wood the best of wives. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business.
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