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"Also, Miss Dallas must have had a horror of seeing constantly before her the man whom--innocently enough--she tried to kill. Hence her refusal to marry your dear Maurice. Am I wrong in these ideas? I think not. Still I should like an explanation from you. As I shall be here for some months--searching for the Voodoo stone and Dido--please send your letter to Barbadoes, directed to your anxious inquirer, Max Etwald." "How would you manage it, Sherlock?" asked Patricia. "Give us a hint of your method, and we may be able to locate the fiend ourselves." CHAPTER XXV. THREE LETTERS..
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Marriage is the only worm in the bud of Mrs. Johnson's life, and her laugh has a snap to it even if it is not very sugary sweet. "By the right of our conversation last night, Mr. Alymer. You have forestalled me, I see. No matter," added Etwald, with a sneer. "To-day to you; to-morrow to me." "Lonely, lonely, Molly? You talk about the married state exactly like an old maid. Don't do it—it's foolish, and you will get the lone notion really fastened in your mind and let some man find out that is how you feel. Then it will be all over with you. I have only one regret; and it is that if I ever should be a widow Mr. Johnson wouldn't be here to see how quickly I turned into an old maid." Mrs. Johnson sews by assassinating the cloth with the needle, and as she talked she was mending the sleeve of Mr. Johnson's lounge coat. "And the room was in darkness--that is, comparative darkness--before then," mused Maurice. "I don't think anyone could have seen the devil-stick unless the lamp was lighted. Was it gone when you lighted up?".
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