The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. He never seemed to take full advantage while they were in his mammoth automobile. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. She swallowed hard. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way.
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