But it sounds too real to be imagined. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. Maggot had been brought to a termination. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. Before or after?” Lucy paled.
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