It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. He frowned. “Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams.
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