During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. For the first time it occurred to Ah Cum that the young man might not be quite conscious of his surroundings, that he might be moving in that comatose state which is the aftermath of a long debauch. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time.
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