She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. It’s—Mrs. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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