“Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly.
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