” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. He called a waiter. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. 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.
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