Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. It was of no use, she let him do it as she could not be strangled. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion.
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