” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. “I found not one but two photos when I researched the death of the McCloskeys. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. . . He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. I must not let you go again.
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