To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes.
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