“What do you think you are doing?” He asked. ” “The Bubonic Plague?” He asked. 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. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out.
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