“We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. ‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood.
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