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Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. “There is no time for that. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. You never can tell. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street.
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