’ Her lips parted, but she did not speak. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. ” “Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered. ” “The truth!” There was a brief but intense silence.
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