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Updated: June 20, 2025
Jean was laughing inside herself, but she did not show her merriment. "You can but try," she said. "I've already told you how it can be done." "I'll try to-morrow," he said after a thought. "By heavens, I'll try to-morrow!" It was on the tip of her tongue to say "Not to-morrow," but she checked herself. Mordon came round with the car to pick her up soon after. Mordon!
For a moment their eyes met, and then she turned as though she dared not trust herself and followed her father down the stairs. They were half-way to the house when she laid her hand on Briggerland's arm. "Keep this," she said. It was François' revolver. "It is probably loaded and I thought I saw some silver initials inlaid in the ivory handle. If I know François Mordon, they are his."
"We are getting deeper and deeper into Mordon's hands," he said, shaking his head. "That is what scares me at times." "You needn't worry about Mordon," she smiled. Her smile was a little hard. "Mordon and I are going to be married." She was examining the toe of her shoe attentively as she spoke, and Mr. Briggerland leapt to his feet. "What!" he squeaked. "Marry a chauffeur?
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