The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. After all, life had still its pulsations. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me.
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