“Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. . He was there concealed, waiting her return. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. ’ ‘If he has a bullet inside of him,’ said the sergeant stolidly, ‘there ain’t no one can take it out better nor me.
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