" "Mr. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. Her body went into spasm.
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