He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. F. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Maggot. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day.
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