Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “One genius in the family is enough. “Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table.
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