“Love should be enough, John, but it never is. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. The woman shrugged her shoulders. Presently. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. He had not had time to aim the pistol.
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