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A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. . His efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. Newby Chief Executive and Director gbnewby@pglaf. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire.
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