Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. . “But how can you?” asked Constance. Either Sydney or Mr. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation.
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