“That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. I killed him, Nigel. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. She turned quickly. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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