" And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. ” He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations.
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