The guineas are not for serving your mistress. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. I’m starving. It'll be turning over to-morrow. Sebastian rose from the tomb. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then.
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