I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. There was something very wrong. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. “Me and my bright ideas. . That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. On Thursday we embark for South America.
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