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A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. Wood turned to look at him. “You shall,” she said. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ” Sir John clutched at the table with both hands.
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