. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained.
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