"Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. ” She laughed softly to herself. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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