" With this, he struck the door a heavy blow. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. “No, I administered poisons to you according to the ancient tradition. For I still love her mother. What'll you be doing?" "What can I do?" asked Spurlock, raising his haggard face. Only a book detective could dope this out. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. Too much blood has been shed already. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. ” For a moment Mr.
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