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Updated: June 6, 2025
He was on Lady Bazelhurst's land when he was shot. It was not until after that that I trespassed, if you are pleased to call it such. But I was unarmed; hang the luck!" The way he said it conveyed much to her understanding. "Tell me, please." "I've had murder in my heart for half an hour, Miss Drake. Somehow you soothe me." He sat down on the log again and leaned his head upon his hand.
The momentary glimpse of a real man set Penelope's opinions on edge for the remainder of the day and night. Shaw, whatever else he might be, was a man. Even while others addressed her in conversation she was absent-mindedly recalling to memory certain English gentlemen at home who could stand comparison with this handsome fellow across the danger line. But to compare any one of the men in Lady Bazelhurst's house party oh, it was absurd! She looked them over. Dull-eyed, blase, frayed by the social whirl, worn out, pulseless, all of them. They talked automobile, bridge, women, and self in particular; in the seclusion of a tête-
Lord Bazelhurst's eyes steadied beneath this unexpected assault, his legs stiffened, his shoulders squared themselves in a pitiful attempt at dignity. "Lady Bazelhurst, you you " and then he collapsed into the chair, bursting into maudlin tears. She stood over by the dressing-table and looked pitilessly upon the weak creature whose hiccoughing sobs filled the room.
Am I ejecting an innocent bystander? You are Lady Bazelhurst?" "I am Penelope Drake. But" she added quickly "I am an enemy. I am Lord Bazelhurst's sister." "You you don't mean it?" "Are you disappointed? I'm sorry." "I am staggered and a bit skeptical. There is no resemblance." "I am a bit taller," she admitted carefully.
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