‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. Detached, it was not impossible that she would be forced to leave the dining room because of invading tears. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. \"Is there something desperately wrong with your house?\" \"There is nothing wrong with our house. CHAPTER XXXII.
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