But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. “Okay. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly.
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