That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. “Well,” she admitted. We are off for a second honeymoon. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife.
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