"You mistake,—you are mine. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. He looked no longer at his wife. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. "Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed.
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