His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin.
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