He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me. They had their little dreams about her. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice.
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