“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. . “You, too,” he said abruptly. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. ’ ‘Parbleu,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up in some dudgeon. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. "If the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, I'd blow his brains out.
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