net Transcribers Note: Obvious typesetter errors from the original corrected in this etext. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Mrs. One or the other. “I cannot say more. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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