Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair.
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