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"There it is!" she whispered eagerly, nudging Elinor to make her see. "It's on the screen. Oh, Norn, it must have——" "This is the famous Hughes Junior," said David, introducing him to them collectively. "Collector of dead bugs, and trouble generally. He looks mild, but you want to watch him." Etwald said nothing. With his eyes fixed upon the devil-stick, he meditated deeply. The barrister, whose belief was that Etwald knew more about the wand than he chose to say, watched him closely. He noticed that the doctor eyed the stick, then, after a pause, let his gaze wander to the face of Maurice. Another pause, and he was looking at David, who received the fire of this strange man's eyes without blanching..
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"What, else?" demanded Judith, whose color had been rising at the alluring forecast. Patricia made a despairing little gesture. "I can't think of anything that will fit poor me," she confessed with mock dejection. "I'm so everlastingly commonplace that I don't sound at all." "Have they anything to do with the death of Maurice?" They hurried into the deserted room, and with eager haste they swung the big lantern up to the circle of electric fixtures above the model stand, the stout cord that Elinor had fastened to its bottom hanging concealed among the drapery of the screen that stood behind the model's chair. It was late, very late, before Mrs. Johnson realised it and shooed me home to get ready to go to the train along with the brass band and all the other welcomes..
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