It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. James's built for offices of the meanest description. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. Both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room. Spurlock. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. . It was you, of course, whom he wanted. The last that is known of Monsieur Charvill is when he departed the Valade estate. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. ‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou.
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