Murder had become nothing to her. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. Your life is like a funeral March. So kind, so good to me always. "Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you.
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