Earles closed the piano with a little bang. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. He showed me a black mark under his ear, where the noose would be tied.
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