Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. " And he strode out of the place. ‘I have justice. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. The theme was a masquerade. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery.
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