She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. ” Then she looked up at him with frightened eyes. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees.
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