No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. " And then his interest would cease. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. Petite build, like herself. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. .
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