” She controlled a sob. The blood will rest on your head. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door.
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