In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. They were familiar but more massive. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. The gallows has groaned for him for years. I said intensity of perception. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. " CHAPTER XIII.
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