I am suspected of having shot the man. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. It is generally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding.
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