“Oh, damn!” he said. "These writer chaps are queer birds. "Put it under my pillow," he said. Hold your hand for a moment. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly.
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