’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. This is your choice. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. It is to take place to-night. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. You are right. But she made no answer.
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