" Rambling in this way, the matron at length came to a halt, and taking out a key, pointed to a door and said, "This is Mrs. How old are you?” She asked. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. ” He stuttered. “I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true—both true.
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