The Mystery of Murray Davenport
The night set in with heavy and unceasing rain and though the month was August winter itself could not have made the streets less inviting than they looked to Thomas Larcher. Having dined at the caterer's in the basement and got the damp of the afternoon removed from his clothes and dried out of his skin he stood at his window and gazed down at the reflections of the lights on the watery asphalt.
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