"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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