I. A. R. Wylie

“ One might almost suppose, judging superficially—"
The Countess rose unsteadily to her feet. She still held her letter tight clenched in her hand, and her eyes sought her husband's with the same look of mute appeal.
"I think—I shall rest a little in the next room," she said faintly. "The shock—you know. Dr. Frohlocken—your arm!"
That gentleman responded with clumsy alacrity, and a moment later the Count and George were alone. The Count continued to stare at the door through which his wife had passed, as though he had seen a vision, and George, who was eminently practical, coughed. ”

“ George was sinking deeper and deeper in the sloughs of cockneyism, and the unhappy Count winced.
"No, no, I must spare her that," he agreed hoarsely. "Besides—I couldn't face her. She trusted me, you know, and upon my word I'd have made her happier than either that blackguard Count or that Saunders fellow could have done. But the luck's been against me and I must let her go. It would be horrible to see her when she hears that I'm only a common rogue."
"'Old on there! Don't you go calling names. Hours is a honourable profession if you looks on it in the right light. ”

“ Frohlocken sat at breakfast and discoursed on the subject of crimes. It was a subject which invariably put him in a good temper, and the close, slightly strained attention of his audience encouraged him to explain his theories at some length.
"There are no such people as criminals," he declared, adding paradoxically, "and none of us can claim to be anything better. A so-called criminal is merely a person whose buried instincts have got out of control. We are all potential murderers and thieves ”