" "I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. You know that. ‘Do not speak of him. 1.
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