She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest.
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