"Fold it … under the pillow. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. It appeared highly probable to her that he would stop her allowance. He unhooked it from the front clasp. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. “Eight, Cavendish Square.
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