“Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. ’ ‘Grossly unfair, too. ’ ‘You mean Valade? Certainly not. Luck. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald. Look at these walls. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket.
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