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Updated: June 4, 2025
She wore a wonderful collar of pearls around her long, shapely neck, but very little other jewelry. The touch of her fingers upon Wingrave's coat sleeve was a carefully calculated thing. If he had thought of it, he could have felt the slight appealing pressure with which she led him towards one of the smaller rooms. "There are two chairs there," she said. "Come and sit down.
"Can I get your chair for you, Mrs. Travers," Aynesworth asked, "or shall we walk for a few minutes?" Mrs. Travers hesitated. She looked around, but there was obviously no escape for her. "I should like to sit down," she said. "I am very tired this morning. My chair is next Mr. Wingrave's there." Aynesworth found her rug and wrapped it around her. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Lovell's words of premonition returned to him just then with curious insistence he was so certain that Wingrave's reappearance would lead to tragical happenings. Aynesworth himself never doubted it. His brief interview with the man into whose service he had almost forced himself had impressed him wonderfully.
It isn't so very long to Cowes now and, thank heavens, that'll cost us nothing. We're going on Wingrave's yacht, aren't we?" "Yes! We did accept." Barrington fidgeted for a moment with a paper knife. "Ruth," he asked, "what's wrong between you and Wingrave?" "Nothing," she answered; "I'm afraid of him, that's all!" "Afraid of him! Afraid of Wingrave!" he repeated. "Yes!
"I hope you will." "I will come," he said a little stiffly, "with pleasure!" They were on the ground floor, and Juliet opened the door. Wingrave's motor was outside, and the man touched his hat. She gave a little breathless cry. "It isn't yours?" she exclaimed. "Certainly," he answered. "Do you want to come and look at it?" "Rather!" she exclaimed. "I have never seen one close to in my life."
A doctor was not sent for until half an hour after they reached home, and even then they seemed to have chosen the one who lived furthest away. The conclusion is obvious enough to anyone who knows the facts of the case. Sir William was not meant to live! "Wingrave's trial was a famous one. He had no friends and few sympathizers, and he insisted upon defending himself.
Richardson, if you are not in a hurry," Wingrave continued calmly. "I was hoping that I might see you this morning. Can you spare me a few minutes?" Richardson subsided into his chair. His heart was thumping against his ribs. Wingrave's voice sounded to him like a far-off thing. "The handwriting upon that envelope which I have just restored to you, Mr.
"Of course, Phillsons are lawyers for Malcolmson, Wingrave's broker, so I daresay it came from him. Say, Aynesworth, you don't mind if I ask you something?" "Not at all," Aynesworth answered. "What is it?" "Why the devil do you stop with a man like Wingrave? He doesn't seem your sort at all." Aynesworth hesitated. "Wingrave interests me," he answered.
"I don't understand you," she answered, "I am Lady Ruth Barrington! Who are you?" "You are Mademoiselle Violet," was the answer, "and you know who I am! Listen, I am in Mr. Wingrave's rooms." She would have liked to have rung off and gone away, but it seemed a sheer impossibility for her to move! And all the time her knees were shaking, and the fear of evil things was in her heart.
My aim is to encourage suffering wherever I see it, to create it where I can, to make sinners and thieves of honest people." "God bless my soul!" the lawyer gasped again. "I don't think you can be as bad as you think you are. What about Juliet Lundy?" Fire flashed in Wingrave's eyes. Again, at the mention of her name, he seemed almost to lose control of himself.
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