"How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “I must explain to her. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. . " "And, if you want an additional inducement to do so, I can tell you there's no one —not even his mother—whom he loves so well as you. But for him she might have been alive and happy. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. ‘That way. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine.
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