On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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