’ ‘Why the devil should you be interested, I should like to know?’ rejoined Roding. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. Let—it—fall. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. You're luck. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol.
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