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Mrs. Dallas was about to speak, when the negress silenced her with a look, and raised her head proudly. "Why, Molly, you know me better than that!" she exclaimed from behind a perfect rose cloud of blushes. Just as they had finished, to their great satisfaction the studio knocker sounded the quick double knock that always heralded Griffin, and Judith flew to welcome her..
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He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question: "But Jaggard?" asked David, rising stiffly from his chair. "No, no, I didn't mean that," returned Bruce hastily. "I was thinking of something else." "Against Mrs. Dallas?".
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