Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. "We're forgetting," he said. Now, I'll be getting along. " There was a brief, breathless pause. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Wood. You are the High Priestess of Life. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall.
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