She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. I’ve made no mention of guns and daggers or, indeed, any of the more exciting aspects of the business.
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