There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. Off with you, Caliban! Fly, you rascal!" "Mr. . " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. His last actions were futile. I took the usual way home.
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