They are not your flowers. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. I believed that our marriage was genuine. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused.
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