"Curse him!" muttered Abraham. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head.
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