Charvill’s fury was burning out. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. I was rude and stupid. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. "One of us has got to die," he panted. No matter.
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