It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. “Please, stay a while longer. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. ” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. The noose was at its throat when I called for help. Stanley. ‘And I am thinking now that you may be very suitable. This time they would call it murder. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur.
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