"I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ’ ‘So that was it. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me.
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