But that possibility had been anticipated. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She felt the thrill race through her body. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. “Why?” He inquired. Permit me to make him known to you—Mr.
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