‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. That was the true marvel of it. He's passed through some rough mental torture. I do forgive him; but he will never know now. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. She shrugged her shoulders. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. "But this is good enough to travel in, isn't it?" "To be sure it is. " "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. Love-making at first hand is dull enough. And then you go—and half throttle me.
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