" "You are right," replied Darrell; "the weakness is past. I can accommodate you below. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "Mother, I come to you. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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