You would not have believed me, I know well. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you.
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