" "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. F. "Besides, you'll not be able to get in without me. She opened her eyes. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. ” She sat very still.
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