You make a game with me, imbecile. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. It was explosive and gratifying. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck.
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