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The orange cat was still sitting on the gatepost of Diana Lodge next door. He was no longer washing his face but was sitting up very straight, lashing his tail slightly, and gazing over the heads of the crowd with that complete disdain for the human race that is the special prerogative of cats and camels.
Mr. Waterhouse looked apologetic. He had to look apologetic so often that it was practically his prevailing cast of countenance.
“You think, in fact, that there’s someone going up and down Wilbraham Crescent selecting a victim from every house? Really, James, that is almost blasphemous.” “Blasphemous, Edith?” said Mr. Waterhouse in lively surprise. Such an aspect of his remark would never have occurred to him. “Reminiscent of the Passover,” said Miss Waterhouse. “Which, let me remind you, is Holy Writ.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mrs. Hemming, still vaguely, “he came here to be murdered. How odd.”
There was the handle off a cup, a fragment of willow pattern china, a broken trowel, a rusty fork, a coin, a clothes peg, a bit of iridescent glass and half a pair of scissors.
Inside, it was clear that the books owned the shop rather than the other way about. Everywhere they had run wild and taken possession of their habitat, breeding and multiplying and clearly lacking any strong hand to keep them down.
“And there is The Mystery of the Yellow Room. That—ah, that is really a classic!
“Can’t we get on with it? After all, if it isn’t Harry….” He wondered what exactly she was thinking. There was strain in her voice, possibly emotion? He was not sure. “I can understand,” he said, “that you’d like to get it over. We’ll go now.”
Anyway, I didn’t want him investing my money for me. What money I had I could invest for myself. Always keep your money in your hands and then you’ll be sure you’ve got it! I’ve seen too many girls and women make fools of themselves.”
“I am disturbed. I am much disturbed. They make the renovations, the redecorations, even the structural alteration in these flats.” “Won’t that improve them?” “It will improve them, yes—but it will be most vexatious to me. I shall have to disarrange myself. There will be a smell of paint!” He looked at me with an air of outrage.
