Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years.
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