Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. " The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you.
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