Herr Kreutzer was a mystery to his companions in the little London
orchestra in which he played, and he kept his daughter, Anna, in
such severe seclusion that they little more than knew that she
existed and was beautiful. Not far from Soho Square, they lived, in
that sort of British lodgings in which room-rental carries with it
the privilege of using one hole in the basement-kitchen range on
which to cook food thrice a day. To the people of the lodging-house
the two were nearly as complete a mystery as to the people of the
orchestra. "Hi sye," the landlady confided to the slavey, M'riar,
"that Dutch toff in the hattic, 'e's somethink in disguise " "My
hye," exclaimed the slavey, who adored Herr Kreutzer and intensely
worshiped Anna. She jumped back dramati-cally. "Not bombs "
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