She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. 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. It was locked. "I have had Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. . But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her.
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