And then her pace slackened. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. I’ll try to stay as long as I can. “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things.
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