“May I hear?” “It really isn’t much to tell,” Drummond answered. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. I want to know who sent you those. One cannot trust any man at all.
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