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Johnson, Owen, 1878-1952

"Murder in Any Degree"

The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the
floor, and remained quiet.
Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment,
and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the
revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with
the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in
the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of
paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves.
"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a
moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good
three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to
stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had
railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously.
Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction:
"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!"


LARRY MOORE


I

The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue,
Larry Moore and I.


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