And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing. In a moment he was beside her.
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