As Mrs. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window.
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