She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. Just then—I was nervous. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet.
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