It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Annabel, I cannot believe it. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away. Personally, however, I doubt if—’ ‘Charvill?’ interrupted Gerald without ceremony, all his senses at once on the alert. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. Besides, I thought you despised killing women.
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