It was better even than the hymn-singing. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin.
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