‘She’s gone. “Or I wouldn’t have said anything about it. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. When she spoke, her lips twitched. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. "No," replied Wild; "and I've only listened to your absurd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you.
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