‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. "I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. Her father was right: Ruth must never know.
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