“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. “The man who was found dead in your sister’s room was named Hill?” “It is the man,” she answered. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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