Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. He lost control of the machine. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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