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"I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. He had taken it back. “Vee,” she said, “come home. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea.
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