He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. I have only just left Wych Street. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence.
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