\"The movie's not 'til eight o’clock, so we have plenty of time to get ready. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. For a few minutes all was silent. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. "One of us has got to die," he panted. It was a brief solitude, however. Please yourself.
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