He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. A creeping numbness invaded her. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. She was shocked.
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