She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. " "Where—where?" cried Thames. . " "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames. He nodded. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. “Hi. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. The Ragged Edge. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house.
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