He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. "I alone am to blame. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Surely she could ignore him. Send for Mr. works. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. They were only passers-by. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff.
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