"He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. It’s best. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. It had gone with the rest. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. “Why not?” He asked. She held out the foil. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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