"Didn't I?"
"Very very finely, Alexander."
"They were--were all wrong in saying I couldn't do it," he murmured. He
shivered again and then was still. The Dean had brought a chair and they
put him in it. But he moved no more. May looked at old Foster who stood
by, his face wrung with helpless distress and consternation.
"We've killed him among us, I and you and the people out there," she said.
CHAPTER XXI.
A RELICT.
"Yes, I asked her," said Weston Marchmont, "but--Well, I don't think
she'd mind you reading her letter, and I should rather like you to." He
flung it across the table to Dick Benyon. "I half see what she means,"
said he, lighting a cigarette.
Dick took the letter with an impatient frown. "I don't," he said, as he
settled himself to read it.
"My dear Friend, I have thought it over, many times, in many
different moods, and in all of them I have always wanted to do what
you ask. Not for your sake, not because you ask me, but for my own.
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