Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side.
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