As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. She quickly strangled him with the piano wire as he looked at her, his lips open as if to scream, but his larynx had been intentionally sliced. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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