Retracing his steps, he arrived, without further accident, at the eastern platform of the starling. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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