“I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. He was—a millionaire. Wood. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. " All day long the phrase interpolated her thoughts. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "All right. " "Your esteem is all he will require," urged Winifred.
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