“What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. I was his wife.
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