She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. “You have the temperament,” he said.
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