“I am afraid that you are making a mistake. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. . “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. Oh, John. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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