"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. “A move of any sort would certainly be fatal. He unhooked it from the front clasp. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. They rose as she approached. “Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house.
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