Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. " "I tell 'ee what, saltwater," said Ben, "I'll lay you my fare—and that'll be two shillin'—I'm back in an hour. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head.
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