She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. It’s—Mrs. . I shall quit it and go abroad. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. She hesitated.
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