"Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. ’ Gerald dropped down to join her just as her hand came up, clutching the handle. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup.
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