She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it.
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