"His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Presently. That for the men lay near the Lodge, with which it was connected by a dark passage.
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