” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily.
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