I bored him. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. ’ Still no response. The aunt laughed. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling.
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