Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them.
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