He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. .
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