"The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. E.
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