Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. She was furiously angry. The chair was torture. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. She quickly strangled him with the piano wire as he looked at her, his lips open as if to scream, but his larynx had been intentionally sliced.
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