The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. “What are you doing?” He cried. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short.
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