1608158The Middle Temple Murderhttps://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-middle-temple-murder-8/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1121923/c0ea0a47-c9e0-4dca-bb38-b2648097b842.jpg?v=6383374217903300006161MXNWDS PublishingInStock/Ebooks/As a rule, Spargo left the _Watchman_ office at two oclock. The paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two oclock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of St. Pauls.Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every night and every morning he walked to and from the _Watchman_ office by the same route--Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. He came to know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed the habit of exchanging greetings with various officers whom he encountered at regular points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further away another policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in his face."What is it?" asked Spargo....1587824The Middle Temple Murder6161https://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-middle-temple-murder-8/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1121923/c0ea0a47-c9e0-4dca-bb38-b2648097b842.jpg?v=638337421790330000InStockMXN99999DIEbook20131230000192899_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_ As a rule, Spargo left the _Watchman_ office at two oclock. The paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two oclock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of St. Pauls.   Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every night and every morning he walked to and from the _Watchman_ office by the same route--Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. He came to know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed the habit of exchanging greetings with various officers whom he encountered at regular points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further away another policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in his face.   "What is it?" asked Spargo.  (*_*)1230000192899_As a rule, Spargo left the _Watchman_ office at two oclock. The paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two oclock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of St. Pauls.Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every night and every morning he walked to and from the _Watchman_ office by the same route--Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. He came to know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed the habit of exchanging greetings with various officers whom he encountered at regular points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further away another policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in his face."What is it?" asked Spargo....1230000192899_WDS Publishinglibro_electonico_866df74c-324a-386a-b936-999a35ed7ca7_1230000192899;1230000192899_1230000192899J SInglésMéxicohttps://getbook.kobo.com/koboid-prod-public/5da545ee-3339-47e6-97c4-a4393d41376e-epub-f9873b23-1297-4962-8e9a-c23e0f16a3f0.epub2013-10-29T00:00:00+00:00WDS Publishing