’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. After all, life had still its pulsations. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. CHAPTER XXVI. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. As for that, what man ever had? "That's a remarkable young woman," he offered, merely to note what effect it would have. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience.
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