Mrs. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength.
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