He believed me when I asked him to marry me. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Her efforts were vain. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. "The chief of the detective agency informed me that it would be best not to let Mr. Killed is too kind a word.
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