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Updated: May 14, 2025
The Jew's eyes shifted, only to fall on the pale, revengeful glare of T. Hoppley Bulfinch, who was half rising from his chair with all sorts of possibilities written on every feature. "Let him go," whispered Braith, and turned his back. Bulfinch sat down, his eyes like saucers. "I'd like but not now!" he sputtered in a weird whisper. Clifford had missed the whole thing.
"Certainly not," began Gethryn, but Mr T. Hoppley Bulfinch had seized his campstool and trotted away across the square. Gethryn leaned into the cab. "Will you give me your address?" he asked gently. "Rue Monsieur le Prince 430 " she whispered. "Do you know where it is?" "Yes," said Gethryn. It was his own number.
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