No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. "He will kill me," cried Thames. He stood before her. "The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Sir John once more looked around him.
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