She almost sprang to her feet. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. " "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. “Want to see Mr. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side.
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