" "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. I do not love any one. He took up his hat and went. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. I said I’d do anything. She was alone with a deadly enemy. "There won't be much left for you," he said. ” “It wouldn’t be you either. Lassitude?” “I suppose so.
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