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" "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Ruth shivered; she was cold. “How is that carmine working?” he asked, with a forced interest. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean.
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