“I liked him, and I never undeceived him. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. I secured the dog after he had wounded me. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly.
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