He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. "Not as I loved mine. “But your sister?” he asked. The stain was blood, but this was a stain that resulted from being up one’s elbows in blood! She smiled a nurse’s knowing smile. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. Through that she had to go. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. If you want me, you know where to find me. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. "At length, my vengeance is complete.
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