As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing.
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