The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood by Arthur Griffiths
page 15 of 497 (03%)
page 15 of 497 (03%)
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The occupant of No. 43 upon the first floor was pacing his room with
agitated steps--a young man with fair complexion and light curly hair; but his blue eyes were clouded, and his fresh, youthful face was drawn and haggard. His attire, too--English, like his aspect--was torn and dishevelled, his voluminous neckcloth was disarranged, his waistcoat had lost several buttons, and there were stains--dark purple stains--upon sleeves and smallclothes. "What has become of her?" he was saying as he strode up and down; "she has not been here; she could not have come home when we parted at the door of the Vaudeville--the bed has not been slept in. Can she have gone? Is it possible that she has left me?" He sank into a chair and hid his face in his hands. "It was too horrible. To see him fall at my feet, struck down just when I--Who is there?" he cried suddenly, in answer to a knock at the door. "Open, in the name of the law!" "The police here already! What shall I do?" "Open at once, or we shall force the door." The young man slowly drew back the bolt and admitted the two police-agents. "M. Gascoigne? You will not answer to your name? That is equal--we arrest you." |
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