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There was never any direct evidence, but his wife was perhaps overanxious to provide him always with adequate alibis. He fished the largest piece of mirror out of the shaving bowl and propped it up on the black crossbow bolt that had buried itself in the wall. He wore a synthetic, deeppile jacket with a tear at one shoulder and a cheap wool hat, dark blue, shapeless with age. But he had thrown it with such force that it broke the stone it fell , and there, embedded in the broken stone, was the most beautiful emerald in the world.

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