“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. This is your choice. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. " "Not utterly," rejoined the other.
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