“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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