‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat.
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