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Johnson, Owen, 1878-1952

"Murder in Any Degree"

Suddenly he said:
"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?"
"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face
things."
"Still--"
"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out
absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for
fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel
between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this
world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to
have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love
something of the tiger--a fierce animal jealousy of every one and
everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this
moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am
regretting the days in which she was not in my life."
"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said
Herkimer, with a growing anger.
"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive,
more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head.


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