Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. The Closing Scene. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. “I wondered. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie.
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