"If so, I may as well execute my warrant. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “No, no, no. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. He knew she had been weeping. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it.
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