"Mr. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “Much better. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. Martin's Le Grand. Your father…. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry.
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