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The major himself told me that this secret passage started upstairs. He had no ideas about daughters. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. “They have no plans for us. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. But ship that girl east as soon as you can. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. .
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