His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. But I mean to have them. " "By no means," rejoined Wood, hastily. Your old rooms are there, if you choose.
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