Jackson: "ha! ha!" "Not in the least, Ma'am," echoed Mr. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. My wife—killed me.
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