And not a worthy tome in sight. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. She pointed across the road. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard.
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