If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. It is dull—deadly dull. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. Spurling and Marvel rose too.
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