Earles was absolutely indifferent. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. “She’s been up to no good, Sheila. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. It is no good arguing about a thing like that.
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