“Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. ’ ‘Remenham House,’ exclaimed Trodger, who had been watching this interchange open-mouthed. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. How old are you?” She asked. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. My dress, my person will be minutely described.
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