Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his. "Do you submit?" interrogated Wild. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. Idiote. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives.
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