Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. It's almost incredible. “You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. Above the housetops it was different. " The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto. .
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