“No,” she answered. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. It was ended. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. "You are," replied Kneebone. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. "Let it pass. I'll tote it myself. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire.
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