"By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. The Times slipped from his fingers. Be on your guard. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. It’s well hidden, miss. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat.
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