“Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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