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It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. " "You talk boldly," replied Wild. " "My strength fails me," gasped the fugitive. Only I do not care to write about anything else. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. “They died within a few months of one another. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. She looked in the rear-view mirror.
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