Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. “I get that a lot. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone.
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