" She opened the book which she had brought to the table. Alban's to-night. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. Go to her. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too.
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