He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. Will you answer me a question first?” “If I can,” Ennison said. Thames Darrell MUST die. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. She turned with an effort.
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