He got up brusquely. ’ Kimble chewed his lip, but his hostility was visibly lessening. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. You two have a good time. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. This is altogether insupportable. " And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock. Then he threw the letter at me.
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