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She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. The perfume was the only one she ever used.
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