He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery. ‘I have said it is not stolen,’ snapped Melusine indignantly. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.
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