A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. “I say!” he cried. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west.
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