“But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. . “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer.
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