" "Give me the brandy, and I'll tell you," replied Wood. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. She and I were very close. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest.
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