The mummies were tossed into the collection. Then the work is optional; they go on their own. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death.
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