The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. " The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. ” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. It drives one mad at times.
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