It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “Dare!” she said. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. "Stand aside, Tom," commanded Kneebone. ” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk.
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