Amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek, observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. The phone did not ring. I asked him to take me away, and hide me. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. ‘That way. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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