Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order.
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