.Die Nacht liegt wie Blei auf Schloà Darkmoor>
Sir Henry liest Financial Times.
Zwölf mal schlägt gespenstisch die Turmuhr>
Der Butler hat Ausgang bis eins.
Da schleicht sich I'm flackernden Lampenschein
Fast lautlos ein Schatten zur Tüare herein
Und stürzt auf Si.
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