He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. You know—I worship you. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. I tell you what, Mr.
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