It was a mad half-hour. “Yes, I remember,” she said. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. His little doll. Passing thought.
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