Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping. I’ll go after them and kill him.
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