Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand.
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