‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. Not enough of them to make a difference. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self.
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