“Heaven knows!” said Mr. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling.
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