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 You're kidding me.

Wilhelmina lighted a cigarette. Perhaps, she said. What do you think?

I think you're kidding me.

It was late in the evening before they returned home, Wilhelmina driving. Bidding her good-night at the foot of the stairs leading to her apartment, he entered his own room. As he turned on the lights he learned that he faced a determined man holding a levelled revolver. Even in the advanced state of terror which his unwelcome visitor had precipitated, he recognized Abel Morris.