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Ramage demurred. "She has, she has," said Jack, in a broken voice. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. "Oh! nothing at all," answered Jack, sneeringly, "though this room's as much mine as yours, for that matter. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too. ‘But tell me this instead. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily.
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