Jealousy Is A Strange Transformer Of Characters.

As A Rule, The More Bizarre A Thing Is, The Less Mysterious It Proves To Be.

The Sky Was Of The Deepest Blue, With A Few White, Fleecy Clouds Drifting Lazily Across It, And The Air Was Filled With The Low Drone Of Insects Or With A Sudden Sharper Note As Bee Or Bluefly Shot Past With Its Quivering, Long-drawn Hum, Like An Insect Tuning-fork.

Exactly. She Does Not Shine As A Wife Even In Her Own Account Of What Occurred. I Am Not A Whole-souled Admirer Of Womankind, As You Are Aware, Watson, But My Experience Of Life Has Taught Me That There Are Few Wives Having Any Regard For Their Husbands Who Would Let Any Man's Spoken Word Stand Between Them And That Husband's Dead Body. Should I Ever Marry, Watson, I Should Hope To Inspire My Wife With Some Feeling Which Would Prevent Her From Being Walked Off By A Housekeeper When My Corpse Was Lying Within A Few Yards Of Her.

A Trusty Comrade Is Always Of Use; And A Chronicler Still More So.

It Is Quite A Three-pipe Problem.