So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. Then, in a whisper: "But there's no reason why the whole hotel should. Take the one that struck him at this moment.
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