He sent me home. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. " "Worth anything?" "I don't know. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies.
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