"What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. “What do you mean?” she asked. E. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck.
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