He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Her spirit awoke in dismay to an affection in ruins, to the immense undignified disaster that had come to them. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. “I must go.
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