‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. 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. “Let’s go. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts.
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