It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem.
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