He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. “I have not the least idea who he is. Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it. I have worn it for weeks and weeks.
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