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life of the Drew household appeared to be at the moment centered in the great hall into which we came. Carlotta Drew was lying back on a big sofa at the left, indulging in the luxury of mild hysterics, and Mary Will bent over her, a bottle of smelling-salts in her hand. A little old woman with a kindly face, evidently a servant, was weeping silently near the stairs, and at the moment of our entrance Hung Chin-chung emerged from the dining-room with no sign of emotion on his inscrutable face.

“Mary Will,” I said gently.

She lifted her head and looked at me. There was terror in her eyes, but at sight Rh