She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. “I murdered them, John. Ain't we, partner?" he added, appealing to Langley, whom punch had made rather dozy. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted.
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