"To me?" gasped Winifred. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. "I vent to de New Prish'n, and on wishitin' his shel vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and Jack and Agevorth Besh gone. "Did you write it?" "No.
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