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“Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. She loved him. She hated living like that. A detective will be here in a few moments to make inquiries into this affair.
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