CHAPTER XVIII. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. He must be gone to dispose of the body. ” She said, frozen to the floor where she stood. I can’t stand it. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by.
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