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“Not a bit. ” He then slipped a diamond ring on her finger. "And now to dispose of our dead. I have work there. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. “Very likely. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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