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When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of.
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