The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. The land about these walls is a common graveyard. “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face.
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