He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. "Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. .
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