Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. But kill me rather than commit this outrage. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. I can imagine nothing more pleasant in life than to help you, because I know it would pay to help you. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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