“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. Do not mistake me. Even in death, Vorsack was not a man. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill.
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