"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. The air was crisp and dry. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. I——” Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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