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Johnson, Owen, 1878-1952

"Murder in Any Degree"

There never was a word between us. It was
_ideal_"
De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said
hastily:
"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon."
"_Ideally_ happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the
same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind,
a wonderful mind. It was an _ideal_ union."
"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He
crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the
profoundest conviction that he repeated:
"You adored her."
"I _adored_ her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word
against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her
fault."
"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder.
"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody
bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the
desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I
must get away."
"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?"
"Oh, Jim!"
Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in
the effort to master the memory.


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