She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. Meysey Hill—never your wife. . ’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away. " "All right. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret. Permit me to introduce myself. Do you expect me, I wonder. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me.
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