‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail.
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