“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. The Reaper is not sated yet. . . She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way.
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