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Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. ‘You imbecile.
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