‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. "I have killed her," cried Jack. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right.
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