” He replied. She had killed him. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair.
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