"Shortly after your last visit to Dollis Hill, my father was one evening waylaid by a man, who informed him that he had something to communicate respecting Thames, and had a large sum of money, and some important documents to deliver to him, which would be given up, provided he would undertake to procure your liberation. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. It brought no coconut. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come.
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