" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. We’ll make short work of them. The ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide. ” She looked up at him, and found he was watching her closely. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. .
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