It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. "If you've done wrong, confess it, and I'll forgive you!" "I don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned Jack, bursting into tears; "for I'm afraid I've done very wrong. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. IX. Well, after a time there came a fever in my blood.
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