I felt a bit disappointed, a bit cheated, as one might feel on the first night spent at home after many successive visits to exciting plays.

To-day, the first of August dawned, and still all was quiet.

Indeed, it was not until this evening that further developments in the sudden death of Captain Fraser-Freer arrived to disturb me.

These developments are strange ones surely, and I shall hasten to relate them.
I dined to-night at a little place in Soho.

My waiter was Italian, and on him I amused myself with the Italian in Ten Lessons of which I am foolishly proud.