"Who are you?" inquired Mrs. You say I know nothing. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. In Paddington. “I wrote it for you.
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