I don't have a phone in my room. ” She looked at her toes. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. He laughed suddenly, and released her. Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain.
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