“A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. "Took a great fancy to you. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. It must have been impossible to see me through that much rain. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. He raised her to a sitting position. The tension was palpable. Ennison?” Sir John hesitated. "There's nothing in his clothes. “What has she told you?” “Everything. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time.
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