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Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. I wanted to talk to you before when you first came to live here two years ago, but I never did. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year.
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