Then, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. "I am coming to the point, Joan. The Iron Bar. But she was not sure just how to reach it. The day is already half over. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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