I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. ‘How the deuce did she get out without me seeing her?’ ‘Took advantage of the distraction, cunning little devil,’ Gerald snapped, racing down the corridor. This time they would call it murder. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. It was decrepit and too large. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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