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He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. She was very excited. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. E.
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