Now tell them why. I wanted the magic of love. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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