‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. Even our coarseness.
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