She followed the official back into his room. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. The chance had gone. And I'll have supper with you. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest.
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