“Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. But it was of no avail. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. "I'm glad to find I'm right.
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