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"My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. It came again. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs.
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