Explore "A Secret Service" by William Le Queux on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I met Felix Karelin in a rather curious manner. I had been visiting two refugees, Dobroslavin and Bolomez, who lived in Little Alie Street, Whitechapel, and about six o'clock one July evening was walking along Leman Street towards Aldgate Station, intending to take train to the West End. As I turned the corner into Commercial Road, an aged, decrepit, blind man accidentally stumbled against me. Bent, haggard, and attired in a ragged frock-coat, green with age, wearing a battered silk hat, the nap of which had long ago disappeared, he looked unutterably miserable and melancholy.
Halting, and tapping with his stick, he exclaimed in broken English: "I beg your pardon, sir."