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THE DOOR OF DREAD
CHAPTER ONE
"WHAT'S your name?"
"Sadie Wimpel."
"And your home?"
"Anywhere under me hat!"
The heavy-jowled man with the incongruously alert side-glance looked up across the polished desktop.
"What do you mean by that?"
"That me home's mostly where I happen to be."
He studied her with an eye as wistful as an old hound's eye in winter. She looked as dapper and neat, in her trim-cut tailor-made gown, as a well groomed polo pony. And under her neatness of limb was a suggestion of strength, and under her strength a trace of audacity, and under that audacity a touch of restiveness.
"Have you ever been in Europe?"
"Sure!"
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