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Conscious of Mrs. “Ugh!” she said. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. I've got an address here. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. Yes, there was someone there. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip.
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