“Will he die?” she asked. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. I hate what I have to do to survive.
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