That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. That is my way, my dear. He is already married. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found.
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