The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Get on, do. Not all of us, but some of us. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. I am suspected of having shot the man.
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