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"My dear Oliver!" protests Lady Rodney, mildly. "The night was so lovely,—so mild," says Mona, faintly, concealment in any form being new to her, and very foreign to her truthful nature; "and I knew Mickey would tell you it was all right." "Well, it was perfect: wasn't it, Violet?".
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Conrad
"Of the purest," says Geoffrey. Or cattle faintly lowing: "Now come and see my own room," says Mona, going up to Rodney, and, slipping her hand into his in a little trustful fashion that is one of her many, loving ways, she leads him along the hall to a door opposite the kitchen. This she opens, and with conscious pride draws him after her across its threshold. So holding him, she might at this moment have drawn him to the world's end,—wherever that may be! "You must understand," she says emphatically, "he did not shoot himself purposely. It was an accident,—a pure accident.".
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