Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. “That is as you will,” she said. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. ‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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