Mr. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. ” Or someone, she thought with disgust. “Think of that check you endorsed. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Your mind is still subtly sick. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason.
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