The opiate has done its duty. It was a simple wish. I hated him. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. He drew her closer. “I am a fool,” he said. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. We both understood that.
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