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She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. He had chosen his time well. " "What is it?" asked the poor woman. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild.
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