The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. "Think not to deceive me, monster. He’s the handle of life for you. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs.
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