He laughed. You called yourself a murderess. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. ” “You have it,” he declared confidently. "Not in the least," returned Kneebone, slyly, "not in the least. “You have even her name.
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