"Rachel," said Mr. “It is a hateful story. That could signify nothing except that the doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in one of those archipelagoes. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter.
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