And it's uncanny. The noose was at its throat when I called for help. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. ’ ‘Now then, missie,’ began the sergeant severely, ‘just you hand over that dagger. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. He embraced her fully. "Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Dutchman, removing the pipe from his mouth, and speaking in a deep and guttural voice, "leave the affair to Johannes. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf.
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