“I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. You are my prisoner, murderer. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London.
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