" "On that night, you first met me, love," said Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to take his hand, which he coldly withdrew. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead. Something in her tone made him look up.
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