He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Not wisely but too well. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. O'Higgins.
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