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” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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