” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. You'd better lose no time. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. ’ ‘Sport!’ grumbled her betrothed, but he accompanied them across the ballroom all the same. ‘Cover her, men. You’re a lady.
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