“It was poison—why not?” she answered. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol.
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