No offence, I hope. You. What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed three or four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy.
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