He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. Spurlock halted in his tracks. C. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens.
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