‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. This man and he were alike, and about the same age. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. She passed down the stairs and into the street. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength.
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