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"Why, it's like a laundry," exclaimed Patricia in disappointment as she looked about her. The low-ceiled whitewashed apartment into which they had descended from the winding iron stair was sepulchrally bare and empty in the flicker of its noisy gas jets, the rusty gas stoves at its farther end emphasizing its general air of desolation. Judith's face assumed a smooth blankness that passed unnoticed by both Elinor and Patricia, now intent on finishing their breakfast and getting off. "No," said Jen, linking David by the arm, "we don't need aid from the law to learn who killed Maurice and avenge his death. David and myself will find the guilty person.".

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"David," said he abruptly, "owing to the coming of Etwald and Arkel on that night--the night upon which the body was stolen, I mean--I forgot to ask you what reception Miss Dallas met with on her return home. Who received her?" "She hasn't been studying long, has she?" asked Miriam, with her eyes intent on the long blue curtain that screened the decoration from sight. Standing high above them in the semi-gloom, with that faint smile still on her lips, she watched them calmly as they danced the famous Ghost Dance of the Academy about her, omitting no gruesome detail that would be calculated to affright the dismayed beholder, chanting and groaning horribly the while. Patricia, greatly excited, patted her hard on the shoulder. "I told you you'd be a winner," she crowed. "I guess Bruce knew what he was talking about.".