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nydus/Continental Op StoriesPublic

A collection of short stories about an unnamed agent of a detective agency in the early 1920s.

Page 1014 of 1257
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still in his hand, his face white and tired from nervous tension. Looking over his shoulder, I could see the room we had just quit. Andy and Mickey had Flora sitting between them on a sofa. Carey stood a little to one side, looking curiously at Jack and me. We were in the middle of the band of light that came through the open window. We could see inside⁠—except that Jack’s back was that way⁠—and could be seen from there, but our talk couldn’t be overheard unless we made it loud.

All that was as I wanted it.

“Now tell me about it,” I ordered Jack.

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