She caught at the idea. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. " "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald.
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