Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. That’s got his nerves to rags. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. The twins were a hard delivery, a C-Section. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it.
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