“Soon enough, John. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. He has escaped. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. Her body went into spasm. It was perfectly legitimate.
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