She must kill this man, or kill herself. "Thank you, Mrs. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. "Did you write it?" "No. Think better of it. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger.
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