She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. She still had her letter of credit. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. .
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