‘You could have fetched me home. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. A queer nut. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. .
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