" A detective. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, grinning. With Bess's assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak.
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