Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. “I’m next, Mr. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness.
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