“No, he grabbed my hand. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. Courtlaw stood up. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. But this was long ago. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up.
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