[Trumps by George William Curtis]@TWC D-Link book
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CHAPTER LXXIV
3/9

There was no sound but the regular ticking of the clock upon the mantle.

He had not observed it before, but now he could hear nothing else.
Tick, tick--tick, tick.

It had a persistent, relentless, remorseless regularity.

Tick, tick--tick, tick.

Every moment it appeared to be louder and louder.


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