” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. I have suffered too much from your treachery. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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