. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg. ‘I am extremely displeased. . Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. Only a book detective could dope this out. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. ” She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at once locked the door with a little sigh of relief. She threw him his car keys. “Run in now. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned.
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