A grave, aged voice sounded from beyond the iron gates. It was a special intonation drawn out with length, the peculiar accent unique to the people of the capital city—elvish.,She looked at the iron gate that stood between her and the old man, and her thoughts began to drift aimlessly.,That pallid, weak face had no color. The youthful appearance, barely seventeen or eighteen, possessed a beauty entirely different from Professor Moriarty's.。