Give me the chisel, Blueskin. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. “Call me Cathy, John. " He shook his head. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. ’ Gerald eyed her. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters.
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