"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. Ralph. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. I shall want you. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. My own impression is that he already knows.
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