"There's Sharples," cried Quilt. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. "That's for Winifred," vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. Only a book detective could dope this out. " "Arm yourself with that ruffian's weapons," replied Jack, "and let us search for her.
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