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“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. ” “It is a conspiracy,” she exclaimed. ” “Isn’t it. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter One In the quiet of an autumn afternoon, the deserted mansion slept.
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