She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Good night. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water.
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