He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. . ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. Practically. No more. I'm not particular what or where.
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