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Updated: May 7, 2025
TO LET. That commodious and elegant family mansion, No. 27 Limehouse Road, Pultneyville, will be rented low to a respectable tenant if applied for immediately, the family being about to remove to the continent. Under the local intelligence, in another column: MISSING. An unknown elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings in the Kent Road, since which nothing has been heard of him.
A slim young man with spectacles, a large hat, drab gaiters, and a notebook, sat late that night with a copy of the "Times" before him, and a pencil which he rattled nervously between his teeth in the coffee-room of the Blue Dragon. I am upper housemaid to the family that live at No. 27 Limehouse Road, Pultneyville. I have been requested by Mr.
TO LET. That commodious and elegant family mansion, No. 27 Limehouse Road, Pultneyville, will be rented low to a respectable tenant if applied for immediately, the family being about to remove to the Continent. Under the local intelligence, in another column: MISSING. An unknown elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings in the Kent Road, since which nothing has been heard of him.
Limehouse Road was deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, and the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A commodious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as you enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence surmounted by a cheval de frise of broken glass, looked to the passing and footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclusion and solitude.
A slim young man with spectacles, a large hat, drab gaiters, and a note-book, sat late that night with a copy of the "Times" before him, and a pencil which he rattled nervously between his teeth in the coffee-room of the "Blue Dragon." I am upper housemaid to the family that live at No. 27 Limehouse Road, Pultneyville. I have been requested by Mr.
One of my master's friends was a Count Moscow, a Russian papist which I detested. I am by profession a reporter, and writer for the press. I live at Pultneyville. I have always had a passion for the marvelous, and have been distinguished for my facility in tracing out mysteries, and solving enigmatical occurrences. On the night of the 17th June, 1845, I left my office and walked homeward.
One of my master's friends was a Count Moscow, a Russian papist which I detested. I am by profession a reporter, and writer for the press. I live at Pultneyville. I have always had a passion for the marvellous, and have been distinguished for my facility in tracing out mysteries, and solving enigmatical occurrences. On the night of the 17th June, 1845, I left my office and walked homeward.
Limehouse Road was deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, and the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A commodious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as you enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence surmounted by a chevaux de frise of broken glass, looked to the passing and footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclusion and solitude.
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