It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Ed. And lunged once more. “We have to be— modern. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. "No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. “I wish. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man.
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