“What a little brick!” he murmured. Mike seemed visibly happier at her remark. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. . ’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. This at once thrilled her and worried her.
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