She cocked her head. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Occasionally he relit his pipe. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ” It was certain that he was not there. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations.
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