"My head fairly turns round. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. “Dear John,” she whispered. ’ ‘Exactly so. "Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. “Everybody seems to have it now. For a long time neither spoke again. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain.
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