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Updated: June 9, 2025
Palford's summing up of him was that he was of a type with which nothing palliative could be done. There he was. As unavoidable circumstances forced one to take him, commonness, slanginess, appalling ignorance, and all, one could not leave him. Fortunately, no respectable legal firm need hold itself sponsor for a "next of kin" provided by fate and the wilds of America.
He sat at a table in Palford's private sitting-room at the respectable, old- fashioned hotel the solicitor had chosen sat and listened, and answered questions and asked them, until his head began to feel as though it were crammed to bursting with extraordinary detail. It was all extraordinary to him. He had had no time for reading and no books to read, and therefore knew little of fiction.
He was no doubt under the care of a physician in some quiet sanatorium." "Some quiet sanatorium!" Mr. Palford's disturbance of mind was manifest. "But you did not know where?" "No. Indeed, Mr. Temple Barholm talked very little of Mr. Strangeways. I believe he knew that it distressed me to feel that I could be of no real assistance as as the case was so peculiar."
I'm rattled enough already." "Well, is it true?" called out Mr. Striper. "No," Tembarom answered back, sitting down. "It couldn't be; that's what I told Palford. I shall wake up in a minute or two and find myself in a hospital with a peacherino of a trained nurse smoothing 'me piller. You can't fool ME with a pipe-dream like this. Palford's easier; he's not a New Yorker.
Palford's bow was apologetically palliative. "A mere figure of speech, madam," he said. "I really know so little every one else doesn't know." Miss Alicia's protest had a touch of bewilderment in it. What could they wish to ask her? "But, as we understand it, your relations with Mr. Temple Barholm were most affectionate and confidential." "We were very fond of each other," she answered.
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