Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. "Your detective has been remiss in his duty; let him suffer for it. For me that is all over and done with. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage.
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