The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. The door leaned inward. " "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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