Very doubtful. It’s an emerald. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. ’ ‘Damn you, answer me!’ Her eyes flashed.
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