3. "One of us has got to die," he panted. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. I’m taking no chances. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. CHAPTER IX. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower.
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