Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. She brought Sebastian’s chloroformed rag up to his face with her right. Suspicion was in his face. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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