" "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. She slipped on a white clingy imitation silk tee-shirt, a sexy number that Shari had bought on super-sale at the Limited. An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. ‘But I have told you. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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