” “Nothing that one wants. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. The boy she had loved was gone. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. "And on my part, I shall not lift a hand to defend myself. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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