Good night. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. Marry, come up! I've been a great deal too charitable.
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