Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings.
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