My wife—killed me. . ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. As if we didn’t know! The practical trouble is our ages. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. . “I do not suppose he will be home till late. "And now, mark me. . " CHAPTER V. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips.
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