The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. . You have to come over to my house. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. "Take my life, if you're so disposed. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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