But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus.
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