\" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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