" "You once saw a man die that way?" the manager echoed, his recent puzzlement returning full tide. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. "I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had. Her face expressed nothing. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east.
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