‘The poor girl was thrust into a convent to become a nun. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. You ought to know that. If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Amongst them was a revolver. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. “I am. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. He did not move.
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