He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly.
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