" He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda.
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