Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. A little love from him would be enough. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. “Okay. "I wonder," said Ruth. 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. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist.
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