He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. It had been very peaceful in the little cave for countless years. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned.
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