His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. " "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. “But you must forgive me, John. "Your sympathy is being wasted. She—She can snub him. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. Sometimes I try to talk. . Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. So long as they're about, I'll always be rewriting them and wasting my time. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. I thought one had only to take it by the throat.
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